Milost za Krila
by Redsinky
Summary: She was his only salvation, his light and his saviour. Even at a young age, he watched silently, how she would always protect him, how she would always divert that person's attention away from him, but now, he found a way to protect her, even if the cost was his happiness, as long as she was happy, he will be content. "I will protect you."
1. His Resolve

**Chapter 1:** _His resolve_

Her hair was lifeless, spread all over the pillow. What used to be her tanned skin was now a shadow of its former self; a sickly pale of tan like that of rotten pumpkins. Her eyes, full of life sunk into her skin, dark circles underneath. He forced himself not to notice the others, but – he clenched his fist- her ragged breath indicated what was inevitable if he did not do something.

Softly, he raked his fingers through her hair, its stiff, rigid form formed a scowl on his face. He remembered what it used to be, what she used to be. He held her hand for moment, rubbing the bony skin, the prominent veins of her hand. He pressed his lips on top of her hand.

Swiftly, he made his way out of the room, locked the door and hid the key just as the haunting sound of the door creaked. The loud bellow of singing crept up his arms, the faint swish of liquid in a bottle and the harried hands gripped corners. He clenched his fists, nails bit into his skin and the small amount of panic rose from beneath hidden depths of his soul were clamped down.

He watched in silent trepidation, in fear as a large burly figure, obscured by shadows parted like curtains to reveal the person that had changed his peaceful life. His eyes followed the pudgy hands, slick with sweat and other bodily liquids he would rather not know, gripped his shoulder. The heaving, nauseating breath enveloped his face as the figure leered down at him. A sickening sneer formed on the figure's face, stubby fingers caressed his cheek in an almost admiration-esque look, before it developed into an expression of a starving animal. The figure licked its own lips, salivating at his terrified face and a loud bellow of victory escaped the thin lips. He was hauled out of the door, the figure's putrid smell sickening him to the point he fell unconscious, the rough manhandling of his body was his last view.

He would have loved to stay in blissful darkness, its cold sheets embraced his terrified form, it was better than the reality he would soon face. Was peace, such blissful ecstasy only achieved in death? He smiled despondent, a startled cry erupted from his lips and a bright light shone on him. He peeked from his lids and stood frozen in fear at the hungry gazes directed at him. He was in a den full of starving hyenas, he wanted to run, call for help, he wanted to hide, but, he chose this path. It was for her, he chanted to himself, the only rope holding him from despair, depression. He chanted on, even when he was shown in full birthday suit in front of strangers; even when hands touched his skin; even when his skin was slapped and even when he was given to another stranger, it was all for her, it was his choice, his chosen path, and as the reality faded into black spots he kept on chanting.

The next time he woke, without the fog that seeped into his brain every waking hour, was to the steady sound of the heart monitor and the itching pain that crawled up his arms and torso. He was on his stomach, his head laid to the side and a breathing mask on his face. He did not know how long he laid, his face stared blankly at the machine, and his eyes followed the rise and fall of the lines. He did, however, notice the sudden change of temperature, a sudden wisp of wind, breaking through the commodity of his silent structure. Another thought passed by him but, he did not have the time to grab a hold of it and examine as a sharp pain on his back made its way known to him and all he could register was the increase noise of the monitor and his screams, which, oddly, felt hoarse in his throat.

He was on his back, blurred figures flitted pass his vision, hurried whispers followed them and another machine, not his own, blared loudly in the fogged silence. He heard shouts, yells, orders and sensed panic in those figures in white hurrying about like gigantic beetles. Stiffly, he guided his head to observe the figure that laid open on the bed, her mouth open, her face terrified but no noise came out. Her body jerked, twitched and convulsed on the crib, a loud crack rang in the room, her head had hit an object his fogged mind could not register and she laid still, the beep of her monitor droned into one long note. The white figures shook their head, some hand gestures and their eyes were now on him, he did not notice how his face twisted in fear or horror, his mind far too gone to feel his facial muscles moving. A sharp jolt followed thereafter, strangely, he did not hear his screams.

His limbs numbed by the cold laid limp by his side, his eyes panicked, darted from one corner to another and fell onto a slumped figure crouched on the floor. Yet, no matter how much his facial muscles twisted in fear and horror, or the strangled gurgle of his throat, his body did not obey. It moved by itself, in an automatic self-preservation system, stalked the crouched figure, waiting, watching, calculating, before his body found itself in the air, the figure's hands scraping at his throat. He crashed roughly on the ceiling and fell, gravity taking its hold, down, down, spiralling down that pointy lance the figure somehow conjured. Ten metres, his breath slowed, 6 metres, he could hear his heart beat at a steady pace, 3 metres, his eyes surveyed his opponent, ten centimetres and he lashed out.

It was blur of movements, his mind still fogged, but his body knew self-preservation and fought on. Blood was spilled on both sides, arms drenched it liquid red and the harsh breath echoed in the room. The figure stared up, resigned, hopeful, happy, he did not know why. With eyes closed, the figure smiled; blood splattered the walls.

Alone, in dark isolation, a young boy stared horrified at his hands, images of prior events flashed in his mind. He could still envision it, the slick, opaque, crimson that seeped through the wounds, splattered around the room and the overwhelming scent of metallic liquid dominated the area; the taste of the thick liquid as it accidently fell into his mouth, the metallic salt tingled his tongue. His opponent's eyes, the blank, dullness as the light left gradually, pools of his life created a bed for him, slick, wet, thick.

The boy curled into himself, a meagre defence against the world, against his demons, against himself. He could still hear the shouts, the claps of victory and of success ringing forever in his ears. He could still see that silver gleam in their eyes, the genial smile of ecstasy as they saw him, as they saw the limp body dragged ragged across the floor, the blood oozed after him. He could still feel the bundle of red strings, liquid in formation, as the figures in white pushed him through the doors, it leaked, it trickled, on the floor following him and seeped into his meagre clothing. He dared not raise his head for fear of the red, red monster slithering and waiting, before it struck and tore through his being. The boy let out a strangled cry of sorrow, of grief, of terror and horror, his opponent's eyes forever carved into his memory. He scratched at his skin, and watched in fascination as the skin peeled off, as the blood fell, but, it was not enough, he must atone for his sins, he would never do such things to an innocent person ever again.

The boy had resisted against the white cloaked figures for a while, he did not know for how long, but he was content, the red monster had abided and retreated…but, now he could no longer turn away or refuse or ignore his orders. This time, once more, the boy found himself in his birthday suit and instead of a cavern of hyenas a dark figure loomed over him, the leer on his face evident as his eyes raked his quivering form. He shut his eyes, his heart thudded against his chest, and he curled into himself again. Block out the light, erase reality, he wanted to fall back to that blissful darkness, ignorant to the world, safe from the people. Then, as if summoned, the words that was his silver lining, rushed to the forefront of his mind, the promise he had not acknowledge through the terror of his days.

It was for her, he chanted, it was all for her…he will protect her, and the boy sagged despite the situation and resigned himself to the rough hold of the figure. He could feel his tears running the tracks of his face, falling solemnly to the floor, his vision blocked by the broad man over him, on top of him. Shivers ran where the man touched, disgust erupted from his very being and hatred seeped out so deep the man flinched but the male resumed his composure and smacked him across the face, his lips sneered at the boy.

He closed his eyes, he did not want to see the image of the man over him, only to snap them open in silent terror. His gaze slid down and a horrific scream erupted from his throat as he saw the thing rip his muscles apart, tore him open, break his back. The ghastly most appalling thing about it was that he felt himself scream, but not in terror, he felt himself arched towards the male and the touch was not so disgusting, his mind fogged, his gaze murky and his breath came out in ragged noises. He begged, screamed at the man to stop or to continue, he could not remember, he was lost. He was appalled, horrified but another hit erased those thoughts from his mind and he was left blinded in unwanted pleasure.

He was in the room again, injured, exhausted, tired and horrified. The white cloaked figures surrounded his form, they said something but he did not acknowledge them, his mind was stuck at replay. The male had auburn hair, rugged beard, and the whiskers that had tickled his skin, the touch, the cruelty and sadism in his grey eyes as the male gazed at his worn form. The words before the male left and he fell unconscious stood in his mind and he snapped back into reality, the gaze of another grey eyed figure on him, an expectant look in her eyes.

"Will you resist?" She asked, almost caring, but he knew better than to judge the white coat of purity.

"No." His voice coarse and hoarse from prior activities.

His reply made the white figures smile, and in false gentleness guided him through the doors. He laid eyes on ten figures, moaning in agony on the floor, their faces twisted in frozen terror and anguish. He closed his eyes, his hands fisted, nails bit into his skin, blood trickled down his palms and he smiled. At least, he thought to himself, they will not suffer; they will fall into that blissful darkness, the welcomed cold embracing their forms; he envied it. It was mercy that would befall them, and he would be the one to guide them, the only one to suffer the brunt of the pain, the one to divert their attention from them to him, just like her, he mused.

The white room was once more decorated in liquid red.

The white figures had locked him in a white room, desolated of everything and anything. He had been feeling alarmingly exhausted, more so than the sessions he had with that man and those white figures. It was a bleary morning session with him dry heaving on the floor, acid ran up his throat and his stomach churned tortiously inside him. The episode had repeated itself, gradually increasing as his time wore on. His body had taken on that sickly pale colour with blue and green splotches embellished on his skin and he slept more, his body reacted unusual to the substances the figures had him try when it had not done so before, especially when it was the exact substance he had ever since his first awakening in the room. He could barely register as one of the white figures knelt before him, the hands lifted his thin garment above his head and he was left pondering the situation, his eyes stared blankly at the garment tainted in red.

A gasp was heard from the knelt figure and he was snapped back to reality. The figure hurriedly gestured for the others to come closer and voices erupted from the once silent group. He listened on.

"So, it worked?"

"It is not possible…not when we had assigned it as failure."

"Someone must've gone and done it. It seemed to work."

"The question is who should we show our gratitude?"

"I don't think anyone would have done it. What if it was biologically possible?"

"Don't be daft!"

"No…maybe, maybe you are right…"

"How are we going to continue? We had everything set and ready to go, we cannot back out now."

"You're right, the process is delicate and our hopes in him."

"So, what about that thing?"

"Get rid of it."

"Will we have him…?"

"We shall see. Annihilate the parasite ASAP and get to the room pronto!"

"Will do!"

He was hauled out the door of the white room, head spinning on the groups' comment about his situation. Parasite? Was that thing growing in his belly a parasite? He had seen some of the white figures with larger, wider bellies then he and they had come back with small, tiny, delicate bundle of skin. He wanted to see it, but as the grip on his shoulder snapped him out of the room he could not help but resign himself that he would be able to keep it. Maybe it would become something that he would deem precious? He could not ponder longer as a familiar shade of red was on the other side of the room and he shuddered in fear. The grip on his shoulder tightened and he was all but thrown towards that horrid man, strapped to the familiar cold sensation and the scream as a hand plunged itself inside was all too recognisable to him.

His eyes snapped open, mouth opened in a silent scream and his back arched at an unseen figure. He laid still as he forced his breathing to even, his heart beat to slow and his posture to relax, it would not do for his muscles to be stiff come morning, not that he could know – the white walls with no windows blocked any sunlight to sensitive substances scattered organised in the room.

A sound from the other side of the metal door alerted him of action, he forced his eyes to snap shut, and he forced his breathing to slow only seconds before the door slid open, its silent swish and the familiar wind caressing his skin.

The figure shuffled towards the occupant's bed, a clear clipboard with paper in one hand and a vial in the other. The figure grabbed a tool nearby and watched with impassive eyes as the liquid sunk into the container. With practiced fingers the figure lifted the limp limb of the patient and injected the vial inside. The figure stilled his hand and waited for the substance to sink in, the other hand ready to bandaged the injury. The figure waited, clipboard once again in one hand and the other with a pen, the eyes scanned the prone form and a slight stiffening of the shoulders, a jerk to the leg of the patient and the figure wrote it all down, noting the stillness of the body.

Grabbing a needle connected to a bag of another substance, the figure attached the right wrist with it, the left with a clear liquid and two patches on the exposed chest. The figure nodded, turned a machine on and left the room.

The boy let out a soft whimper, the only noise he would allow to make. He dared not move for fear of retribution and kept silent no matter how much the invading substances swam in his blood stream. No matter how much his skin felt like it was corroding from the inside. The boy's organs twisted tightly as another substance invaded before readjusting itself. He bit his tongue to prevent a scream and all through the night he writhed painfully, silently on his mattress, the substance that once was clear was a deep dark blue.

The boy did not know when he had fallen unconscious, into that blissful darkness he could call home. He did know that something was poking painfully at his side and his eyes snapped open, letting his body go through with the routine; slow down the breathing, slow down the heart beat and force his muscles to relax. The boy let his eyes examine the ceiling, the whiteness familiar to him. Another painful poke on his side and he turned his head to the side of the offending object. A stick. He glared at it, eyes following towards another limb connected to it and he let his eyes soften at the frightened face before him-no frightened faces before him.

The boy sat up, ignoring his protesting body and examined the room he was dumped randomly in, again. No doubt, one of the newbies had a mixed up again and were probably frantically searching for him with horror on their faces. He would have smiled if not for the ingrained habit to not do so.

The one that had poked him had moved, huddled in a corner with a group of other children, their glances roving over his frame. The boy scanned the room, noting that none of the children were any younger than he was and that left a slight relief for his conscious.

He got up from the floor, ignored his body shaking and walked over the children, one of them, older than he, stepped in front of him, a determined expression on her face. The boy raised a brow, he raised his hand and descended to the girl who had lowered her head, waiting for the blow. His eyes flashed with sadness and he gripped her shoulder and pulled her into his embrace. The boy knew, as he hummed to the girl's ear, that all of these children would be pitted against him, and he would as usual bring an end to their misery. For now, as he glanced around the children that had latched onto him, he would give the children the much needed love they deserved. He watched with silent eyes as they cried onto him, their murmurs of horror in their voices as they told him their experiences and he just sat with them and embraced them with the love he could give.

He hummed an old, long and lost tune of a time far away and let the children fall under its spell. He kissed every child's head like his mother had done and adjusted their sleeping forms.

The boy glanced at the children and headed towards the familiar sliding door and made his way inside. He stood still in his tracks. The room he had found himself in had rows upon rows of cradles, each contained with a small bundle, some large some small and his heart broke. He could see more than half, at least two thirds of the machines were still, unmovable.

The child made his way over to the closest one, his hand trembled as he traced the soft skin, over the lips tinted blue and the chest that had still mere moments before he had entered, he laid a shaky kiss on the forehead and let a lone tear fall. He dared not look at any other for fear of seeing the same fate as the one in front of him and forced himself to move towards another door on the side.

The hall way was deserted of the normally white-cloaked figures, his face closed off and he scanned the area, noting specific patches of the wall and decorations on his way. He let out a resigned sigh, his fingers trailed the wall as he trudged towards his room and made sure he would not get caught. A wrong few turns and stairs had him standing in awe at the first ray of sunlight in years, the warm sensation engulfing his skin and he let his whole body relax without the forcefulness he would always use. A slow smile shaped on his face and he closed his eyes to memorise the sensation, he had forgotten it, he had missed it and now he would memorise it to the best of his ability.

A crash to his left alerted him of someone and he turned his head to see. One of the white-cloaked figures stood in front of a large wooden double door –the first he had seen in years- as the figure shook, the face pale and eyes wide in horror. The child cocked his head to the side and glimpsed a brighter light than the window could ever commit and it continued on with tints of green before his view was blocked by a hysterical newbie –for the figure was newbie as none of the experts would be seen out of their composure- and his vision turned dark, a needle poked from the side of his neck.

The memory of the sun's rays dancing across his skin was of a distant and hazy feeling. Empty eyes, once a vivid emerald, dulled with the hollow of life stared across from his bed. Clouded voices surrounded his huddled form, the blurred visage of dreams and reality, of colours and of sound was lost to the child's senses.

A gloved hand, of many he had seen, came forth and gripped the skeletal wrist, nudging harshly forward, the dull-eyed child stumbled to his feet knees knobbing together and with his escort he made his way through the mazed hallways and bright walls to the steel, air-sealed doors.

The child had long since unintentionally memorised the layout of the area, repeated procedures in half-mind state had implanted a muscle and mind map. Unfortunately, others such as he, were not fortunate to attain the valuable asset and it brought a distant ache to the child's chest.

It was the same procedure. Smile, reassure and care, the child gazed at the gathered white blob with the same care in his room. The muscles pulled too tight, too high to be real and the empty child walked with a robotic air towards the centre surrounded with innumerable wires, tubes and liquids. The white blob soon followed.

Over and over. Again and again.

Every day, every night, every hour and every second of every year: smile, reassure, care, stare.

The situation was fine with the child, the reasoning obscured and lost in his memories, but it was the distant ache that thumped in his chest that had kept him compliant.

A glimpse of movement caught his attention, it was the motion that was unfamiliar and should to all account not be there. The distant ache thumped in his chest, his head turned to the side with slow trepidation and he almost choked at the sudden surge of emotion from within him, pain, anger, and sorrow.

A soft voice, small and high-pitched whispered repeatedly to his ears.

 _For her, it's for her._

The child cocked his head to the side, furrowed brows adorning his face.

 _For her, it's for her._

An obscure memory raced by his conscious.

 _For her, it's for her…it's ok, everything's going to be okay…I'll protect you…_

The child's muscles tensed, the jaw rigid and unknown to him the rumble inside the walls was heard.

 _For her, it's for her…it's ok, everything's going to be okay…I'll protect you…_

Some liquid substance started to trail down his cheeks, he did not know what it was.

 _For her, it's for her…it's ok, everything's going to be okay…I'll protect you…_

The empty child bolted off his seat and all around him the pipes burst in symphony, all other liquids breaking through their barriers, but the child could not see, nor hear of the happenings. All he could hear was the soft voice repeating the words over and over again, his mind stuck in a white room with cradles filled with empty eyes of infants.

The child was snapped back to reality, the voice not faded, but distant and the first emotion of many appeared dancing in his eyes. Shock and bewilderment.

He turned his attention across the room and saw his target. With a determined aim he made his way, delicate arms cradling the small body to his skeletal chest. Shaking, he dashed towards the exit, a hazy objective but clear instinct to go, go and go.

The floors cracked as ripples made waves, destroying the foundation, systems were overrode with liquid and the walls fell. Frustrated at what his instincts had tried to indicate, he could feel the substance trail his cheeks once again. He came across a door, twisted the knob and smacked into the door. He yelled, voice hoarse from lack of use and the door cracked and crumbled.

The child came across the children from his hazy memories and three cradles, one empty and the other filled with breathing infants. The child admitted defeat to his instincts and let it take over, his whole being filled with resolve and power of some kind calmed his erratic heart. The once dull-eyes had turned back to its vivid emerald had scanned his surroundings, capturing the children and with a smile he released a breath.

The world burst with colour.

Somehow, with a pack-full of children and infants, he was inside a non-descriptive truck. Logic had hid in the dark corners of his mind and adrenaline dominated with the elation of the sun's rays dancing across his skin, he slammed on the accelerator.

A/N: It's not a new story, I tell you. I wrote this story in 2013, and haven't written a new chapter since 2016. I thought, that if I post this, I might have the motivation to write more chapters. You know, like read the PJO series again.


	2. Pigs Might Fly

**Chapter 2:** _Pigs Might Fly_

It was a blessing and a curse for the young boy out on the fields. He didn't like the feel of sweat trickling down his skin, having gotten used to the obsessive cleanliness from the institute but it also made the work harder than it should have been to the young boy. The wind might have been a soft tickling on the skin if it were not the accompanying harsh microscopic blades biting into the thin material of his clothes. A few days had passed by, but the young boy knew that the children and infants with him were of no general use, and being the oldest, slightly larger framed, he got to work. The weather had turned from the pleasant cool temperature they had stumbled onto to the cloudy sky with sprinting winds. It was the thought of the others needing him that motivated the boy enough to escape from the barrier and into the white wilderness around the cottage.

The boy heaved, hastily adjusting his stance and with all the strength he could muster he slammed forward. Small barks splintered and shot towards his face, the axe flew from the clumsy hand and he shot sideways to avoid the collision. The child laid still on the snow, vivid green watched the flakes dance in the air, twirling, jumping, and the sound of cheerful laughter echoing in the surroundings. The boy could imagine a large ballroom filled with people in formal clothing, conversing with each other and people dancing at the centre, their smiles infectious to the audience. He could have laid on the snow for a while just to let his imagination run wild conjuring far-off dreams of happiness of ones he scarcely remembered if it were not a growl that made the small frame shot up.

The vivid green narrowed, flickering from hiding place to hiding place, the body tensed ready to run or fight. Cracked lips frowned, furrowed brows appeared and he peered closer to the large bundle. It had a mix of soft and harsh grey fur, ink-black identical, crescent moon shapes on each base of the ears, startling crystal-blue eyes peered under a thick tuft of white fur and the lips pulled back to a snarl to reveal a very large and very menacing canines pointed to the boy's direction.

He took a step closer.

Either the young child's self-perseverance had took a hiding or perhaps it was the equally large, deep gash across the torso that had caught his attention, a hefty bark ingrained inside the animal did not help relieve the situation. The child disregarded the screaming of his instincts and took the few hesitant steps towards the large animal, ignoring the menacing growls his way. When the injured animal tried to move the boy stilled mid-crouch, he cast his eyes over the body, stood and left the area.

Small hands swept inside the tiny compartment he had found, patting the base and cheered quietly when he found the solid object. There was no need to wake the children.

After only a few miss-turns the boy found his way back, the area under the animal was tainted an alarming red, seeping into the white snow and with a careful yet hurried pace he made his way towards the injured. Opening the lid he took out the needed tools to extract the imbedded bark and the familiar white bandages out of the box. He showed the materials to the animal, hoping that the animal had some sense inside. Crawling closer, he kept one critical eye on the procedure, the other to the animal with his instincts on full, screaming alert.

The young boy had only the guidance of the lab-coats to help him through the procedure and bit his lip nervously. He wrapped an absorbent sponge around the bark, making sure that he did not move the bark in the process, gripped the bark gently and pulled, harshly. The child quickly scrambled back, vivid green warily watching the animal jerk, its large snout swung towards him. The icy blue eyes stared at his own vivid green, the nose twitched and the head laid back down on the red snow, the head not turning away. Shakily, the child forced himself to get closer, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant, the child openly winced at the reaction it would get. Throwing aside the red cloth, he grabbed a new cloth and poured some liquid of the disinfectant into it. Quick as he could manage he pressed the material onto the wound, wincing at the sudden closeness of the bared canines. He made the mistake of moving the cloth and cried out in pain and shock from the piercing of his flesh. He stared, terrified at the attached canine on his free limb. The child threw the material aside and sat still. He did not know how to take his arm back.

By the time his arm was set free, his face poured out rivers of tears, the restrained sobs not escaping his tight hold. He dare not move from his position, but he did slowly reach for the cloth, letting the animal watch his movements. With a shaking hand he rubbed away at his bloodied arm with the disinfectant cloth and winced at the harsh sting. More tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. Once done, he reached for the other tools, a sharp, thin, silver needle and a string attached. He pierced his skin and made the arduous procedure of stitching his freshly made wound up, all the while aware of the icy eyes watching, the growls when he let out an involuntary cry and the snarls of his ever present tears. Vivid green glanced over his finished wound, his hand grabbing the disinfectant, a new cloth on hand and realised that he had taken his eyes off the animal. Glancing up, he saw the animal had tried to stand, but had collapsed, its icy eyes watching him as he cleaned and wrapped the bandage around his arm.

Once again, his eyes found itself locked with the wound on the animal and a deep guilt welled inside his chest. He had caused the injury to the animal.

Ever more terrified than before, the young boy shuffled closer, keeping an eye on the animal and proceeded to finish his job. Perhaps, because it had watched him patch up his wound that the large animal let him patch the wound with nothing more than a warning growl and a whine. Once done, he reached from his back and let the cloak blanket over the animal. He left the area, with a promise to come back.

Four weeks, and the young, reckless child kept his promise to the animal. He nurtured, he cared and cleaned the wound regularly, making a makeshift shelter from the harsh winds to the animal. During all of this, he had not made it out unscathed, he was covered in bruises, bite marks and had earned himself a sprained ankle, not from the animal but from a fall he had taken. It had taken longer to reach the animal then and the large predator had kept the child from venturing back home with a growl and a menacing glare. He had stayed with the animal as long as he could, but had made his way back, knowing that the canine would not be able to follow. He had gotten a large bruise and a soft bite the next day.

By the end of the third week the animal was able to move efficiently, not without the occasional whine or growl. During the time the animal was reacquainting itself with movement, the onyx-haired child had created a large distance between the animal and he. When the animal moved towards his direction, with the intention to go to him, the young child edged as far as he could and ignored the growls.

The fourth week had brought the young child once again to the wolf, knowing even then that the animal was healthy but still worried. Hyper-alert, tensed and wary, he made his way to the familiar trek to the area, the snow was gratefully devoid of red. Vivid green had searched the area, having found the surroundings empty, he had checked more than he would admit, but the child had resigned himself that the animal was gone. He turned to walk away when something bumped onto his chest, the breath knocked away from him.

Frozen stiff, his eyes found itself a target to the familiar icy-blue gazing down on him, a growl on its throat. He did not move even when the snout, hiding the very large canines, sniffed at his pulsating vein, the situation had lost to him as the child accepted his death.

The young boy did not know how, but the animal seemed to have sensed his thoughts and glared daggers at his vivid green, the growl erupting from the throat.

Since then, the whole fourth week was spent in the same manner, the animal seemingly made itself responsible to discipline him, at least that was what the child thought not wanting to venture into a morbid trail of a predator waiting for its prey. The last three days had terrified the child, barely stepping a foot into the area even with the encouraging barks of the animal…because the animal had brought a companion, a very large, larger than the animal he knew, animal. The two had similarities, the smaller one, the once he knew was slim but the same size as its companion. The other, though a smidgen taller, had a wider frame and bulkier muscles, the two together had made intimidated thechild, even if they were separate, the animals still exuded dangerous auras.

It took a couple of growls, a few bruises, lots of biting and barking and the two became three. The small child with overly large animals as his companions. It was into their second week as a three that the child knew he was being followed, the auras had given them away, and the softer growls didn't help any. It was like the slighter framed animal was warning to the larger one to be silent and it had made the child want to cry or laugh or both.

The boy made an effort in losing them. It had worked for a month, the soft bites and bruises was given to him every day and he knew that the two animals were affectionally angry at him for leading them to a wild goose chase. Throughout the period, the young child had worked himself to nurture the other children, curing them of their sickness and entertaining them as much as he could. It was because of this that a lack of sleep was a given and the decrease of food consumption followed suit. The child did not seem to notice, too busy in trying to lose the animals and taking care of the children. It had accumulated to the point where the child had collapsed from gathering food and wood.

The young child awoke in a blurred haze, the aching bones ignored he shot up from his position to gather the food and wood and left, not glancing at his surroundings. It was late, and the children-

It was too late to lose them. He was already at the door, heat boiling inside him, hazed vision and a harsh breathing preoccupied any danger he would bring. He opened the door, shut it as quickly as he could and did the same routine he had done every day albeit drowsier, clumsier and slower, but it was done. He collapsed in a heap in front of the fire.

The child woke, knowing he had rested too long and went about his morning with the same robotic movements he had every other day. It was when setting the table he had found himself targeted to two sets of familiar eyes, one icy blue and the other an eerily glowing gold. He stumbled back in shock, feet tripping over themselves, and watched in slow motion as his vision caught sight of the ceiling.

Panicked, the young boy scanned around the room and watched terrified and awed at the picture.

The animals were inside. Check.

The animals were picking up the children with their teeth. Check.

The animals were feeding the children. Check.

The animals was playing with the babies. Check

He was about to pass out? Incoming.

His vision turned dark. Check.

It was with these turn of events that the seven escapees was made into twelve, if the animals were counted as escapees. Despite himself, the young boy and the rest of the children with their resulted twisted sanity had come to see the animals as parental figures, though the child was more inclined to believe the three of them were some sort of partners, with the two taking care of him. The boy's makeshift family had become safe enough for him to leave, to look for more money and food. He could not rely on the wilderness forever, even when the animals took home their hunts.

With that thought in mind, he made himself explain to the animals of the situation and vaguely wondered the intelligence of the animals when after a few barks to each other, they seemed to nod and pushed him out of the door.

The child had come to realise that he had a ' _saving people or animals'_ behaviour. Whether it was impulsive or not, the young boy did not have time to think about it as he jumped out of a window and gunshots followed. Cradled tightly on his arms was the previous owner's last wish.

 _"_ _Keep it safe."_ A trembled voice whispered to his ear, it was old and waning and the child felt pity. " _Andare a Venezia. All'interno di un bar, la terza strada che si incontra quando si entra, sarà un uomo di nome Codice, dare a lui e dire Leo ha scelto."_ The wrinkled hands shakily gave the item on his arms. He had apparently saved the old man, not wanting to see a group of suit wearing people ganging up to a frail man only a foot to the grave. _"Go! Vai ora!"_ the man yelled.

He had hesitated, but the man with surprising strength had pushed him into a warehouse and the sounds of fighting was heard, a disjointed conversation and laughter as a shot went off. The young boy had scrambled up the stairs then.

The journey to Venice was terrifying to the young boy. He had already seen the darker side of humanity, but to stumble to another aspect was another experience entirely. Always alert, always ready to run, his whole conscience was focused on escape routes, no matter what it took. If he was cornered, he did everything to escape: throwing dirt, throwing anything, yelling, screaming to the police and even murder.

He had killed on the second week on the run. The man had found him in a farmer's shed, alone and shivering from the previous day's rain. The man had grinned darkly at him, had went into a tirade of what he would do, can do and will do to him, the glory and the box. He had been terrified, though it didn't last long when the man had started to describe the old man's death and with a burst of anger and indignation he attacked. The man died with an axe to the brain. He slept less since then.

Second time he killed, it wasn't one but a group, to made it worse for his conscience it was a family with full grown children and the parents. He hesitated to attack, knowing of the importance of family, it had resulted into a village massacre. He killed them with a dead man's gun.

The massacre, his murders had scarred him deep, their deaths weighed heavily in his heart. He barely slept through nights, from nightmares or from the chase, he didn't care anymore. All he wanted was to get the damn item to the receiver.

The third time, he didn't hesitate. It was a different situation, one where he wasn't cornered or found, instead, he went to look for them. With experience of silence, of using the shadows, balancing and the unwelcomed training from the institute he had hunted the group.

Night had fallen in the city of Scandiano, the full moon had risen and whispers of the wind whistled through the air. It was an eerie night, but the young boy did not care. Hidden in the shadows, vivid green that seemed to glow in the dark watched from his position the gathering before him. Maps and papers were strewn on the tables, some making its way to the floors, red, blue and green pins decorated the largest map whilst the others had red, blue and green pen markers on them.

The lights had abruptly turned off, shouts of exclamation making its way to the group and vivid green faded into the black abyss. One of the mechanics had managed to turn on one light bulb, the light dangling above the largest map casting the room a haunting glow.

It was a gurgled shout that brought the group's attention away from the maps to stare frozen at their colleague's neck half off its body. They rushed into formation, the tense silence picking on their nerves. Some watched as the blood from their colleague trickled not on the floor but on barely visible wire, trailing towards them and eyes grew with dawning horror at the room.

A small dark figure landed on the wires, the glinting sword seen in the light.

The next day newspapers were strewn about as a curious teenager had stumbled onto the situation. The headlines read:

 ** _Nemico o Santo (Enemy or Saint)?_**

 _In the twilight hours of the full moon a disaster had befallen, whether it be good or bad is up to your opinions. I have found from one of many anonymous sources, one I guarantee tells the truth as you have read before, that the individuals were recognised as one of the many members of the_ _Pianto Corone_ _that had numerously terrorised many other countries and had gained a significant bounty to their heads. It is with some confusion as to why this group was found in Italy, as they do not target cultured nations. During the investigations, one of the officers was able to give me an inside preview of the area. It seems, they have found maps and plans strewn about tainted by the bloods spilled during the night. The group seemed to have been planning something, seeing as one of the red markings on the map had the village that was massacred only a week prior. It seems, my fellow citizens,_ _Pianto Corone_ _is targeting our nation. Their objective, unknown but the police and government officials had taken upon themselves to see through this investigation and it is with a relieved heart that we may go about our day with the extra protection provided. Until next issue._

 _H.G. Douglas._

The events of that particular night had made the young boy shy from everything and had become an insomniac. He did not know what had possessed him to go through with it, but now he had more guilt added to his already heavy heart.

He was found and cornered again, no matter what he did he was always found and he did not know why. He had run, creating as much as a distraction as he could, he did not want to kill anymore and it was with an anguished heart, tears streaking down his face, he laid down a wreathe of white tulips and chrysanthemums onto the ashen floor.

There was no turning back.

When had finally delivered the package to Codice and the message, he made to leave and never come back but was grabbed from the shoulder and was forced to face the lean man.

"Non so Milost za Krila?"

The man was saddened at the loss of his dear friend and estranged mentor, but he was happy once he learned of the message that was included. He looked at the young, frail frame of the boy before him, the vivid green eyes glowing under the inky-black of his messed hair. There was a haunting expression carefully hidden, and it tore at the man's heart. He had found the elusive _Milost za Krila._ Loved and hated by the populace, a mystery everyone was trying to solve and catch, no one had any inkling the infamous figure was just a small child and it froze the man's blood to the bone.

He had to take careful steps to insure his mentor's plan. "A giudicare dall'aspetto, si sono una fuga (Judging by your appearance you are a runaway)." He began, ushering the boy to his corner.

Vivid green glanced at him irritably. "Che cosa (What of it)?" the boy almost snarled.

"A giudicare dall'aspetto, si sono una fuga (If I were to give you a job, how much do you want it)?" He asked genially and quickly hurried on. "So cosa avete fatto, siete Milost za Krila (I know what you did, you are Milost za Krila)."

The boy tensed, ready to bolt, harm if he had to.

"Vi prenderò in ogni modo possibile (I will take you in anyway)." He assured, a small smile on the man's face. If he let this opportunity slip away, his mentor would skin him alive.

"Perché (Why)?" Voice small and timid.

"Diciamo che è un rimborso per i guai che questo ti abbia causato (Let's say, it's a repayment this trouble has cost you)." He answered half-honestly.

The boy hesitated, an internal conflict obvious in the eyes. "Se accetto, si può fare qualcosa per me (If I accept, can you do something for me)?"

He nodded, noting the boy's reaction.

The young child brightened up considerably and with some admiring restraint held himself from jumping. "Accetto!"

The man pursed his lips, half of him angry at his suggestion to drag a child into the mess, the other sighing but lightly scolding as well. "Non ci sarà nessun punto di ritorno (There'll be no point of return)." He warned seriously.

Inky-hair nodded back just as seriously. "Lo so (I know)."

The man lifted a surprised brow. "Qual era la tua condizione (What was your condition)?" He changed the subject.

Vivid green lit up, a joyous aura surrounding the two and leaned forward as the boy smiled at him, all childish innocence. "Voglio settantadue per cento ha mandato a (I want seventy-two percent sent over to)…"

The man wanted to pray for forgiveness, but knew that it was no use. The child agreed and there was no turning back. He almost committed suicide because of this and swore at his mentor's grave to be a grateful old man and thank everything that he was already six foot under.

The two left the bar, together.

"Es tu perdu, garçon (are you lost, boy)?"

The onyx-haired child glanced up from the map on his hands. "Non, monsieur (no, sir)." He softly replied and folded his map to turn to look outside the window. Sceneries blurred past, people glanced at him, but he ignored them, the memories of the past having made itself nostalgic to him.

A/N: So, this all the chapters I've written. Well, chapter three is actually a summary for me to get Percy into canon. But, the entire story is so convoluted...


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